


The Wilds Don't Lie

by ohanotherday



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe-Species Change, Crack, F/M, Fluff, M/M, They're all dogs
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-18
Updated: 2012-12-18
Packaged: 2017-11-21 10:29:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/596684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ohanotherday/pseuds/ohanotherday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek is part wolf. He is a wild animal that cannot be tamed, an animal that is known for its unpredictable behavior... Fine, fine, he may exaggerate it. Whatever. But he is not a domesticated dog. He is not a pet. And he is not the mother of these three puppies who keep following him around, and if those mutts Scott and Stiles interrogate him one more time, Derek swears he's going to snap. If they're so concerned about the puppies' well-being, they should take care of them.</p>
<p>Based on <a href="http://ohanotherday.tumblr.com/post/35399760577/fluffylaces-in-which-everyone-in-teen-wolf-are">this prompt</a> in which everyone in Teen Wolf is a dog.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Wilds Don't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve compiled a [photo set of all my Teen Wolf characters as animals](http://ohanotherday.tumblr.com/post/38213557144/teen-wolf-au-all-the-characters-are-actually), but feel free to imagine them how you want! It’s just a reference. Also, there’s a shitload of notes at the bottom. I wanted to be as politically correct as possible on the pros and cons of all dogs/wolves/etc, and I ended up writing an essay. This was supposed to be a cute fluffy fic with a huge side of cracky undertones (and trust me, it mostly is), but I felt like I did as much research as I would for a college paper. I just wanted to be super informed. *headdesks* Oh, and the title is from the song "Wild Ones" by Flo Rida ft Sia.

Derek shuffled to the edge of the forest. He tried to avoid the humans of Beacon Hills as much as possible, but he was hungry and tired of hunting for his own food. When he was younger, he had lived with some wonderful people who rescued wolf hybrids—or “wolfdogs.” Derek still got confused over that term, regardless of how many times he heard humans say it. Of course he wasn’t a wolf, but he definitely didn’t feel like he could identify with those domesticated dogs. But, nevertheless, the owners of Hale Farm had rescued all kinds of animals like himself, though many of the hybrids that came in had been abused. The owners of the Hale Farm did their best to rehabilitate all of the animals and find capable people to adopt them. And they had always provided fresh meat and bones for Derek and his family to eat. He missed that level of kindness. He especially missed not having to worry about all his meals. Or about humans who weren’t as friendly to the existence of wolfdogs.

The hybrids had been kept in fenced in compounds, but the owners of Hale Farm had so much land that it almost didn’t seem so awful to be fenced in all the time. They had been caring people, and Derek had actually only ever known life with them, as he was born on the property. But some highly misguided political activist thought that rescuing the wolf hybrids was wrong, and had demanded the animals be killed.

Derek remembered when people would come and protest at the farm, yelling about how hybrids were considered almost worse than wolves to be kept as pets. He figured it was partly true, as hybrids’ behavior was supposedly unpredictable. He remembered scientists passing through the house, and people always filming them, talking about the wolfdogs’ categories of behavior. Their behavior was usually categorized as either 1) hyperactivity/destructiveness, 2) dominate behavior, 3) territorial, and 4) predatory behavior toward children. Only very skilled and attentive owners were able to manage wolf hybrids and keep them healthy and secure. But Derek liked to consider himself far too good to fall into any one of those categories. His owners were perfect, and his family was well-established. The only ones who could be categorized in those four categories were the animals brought in from bad homes and bad owners.

Still, a few of the activists had burnt down the owner’s house in the middle of the night, hoping to send a message. Unfortunately, people were actually inside the house at the time. Derek and his family whined and howled as they listened to their owners scream for help, unable to do anything as the wolfdogs were fenced in. However, when the fire spread to the trees, the hybrids ran. The fire destroyed everything in its pathway, and only by sheer luck Laura and Derek managed to jump over the eight foot tall fence and escape the fire, running as far away as possible. They wandered the forest for days until a man caught them and took them to his veterinary clinic. There they had met an older dog named Deaton who explained their current circumstances to them. He had belonged to the vet for years, and Deaton knew everything there was to be known about all kinds of animals.

Deaton had told them that they were lucky they hadn’t been found by animal control, as it was Californian law that if a wolf or coyote was caught, it must be euthanized. “Wolfdogs”—a term Derek had never heard before then, though Deaton swore it was the correct terminology and would be commonplace soon enough—were allowed to live in California, but if Derek and Laura had been taken to a shelter, they might’ve been killed. It was all political legislation, Deaton told them while rolling his eyes, that if a wolfdog looked too much like a wolf, possessing more than 50% wolf DNA, it would be euthanized. But Deaton’s owner knew a few people who managed wolf and wolfdog rescue shelters, and Laura and Derek were sent away.

However, while Laura adapted well to their new home, Derek couldn’t handle it. He hated the other wolf hybrids asking him questions and trying to offer support and guidance. They weren’t his family, and he didn’t want to pretend they were. After a month of trying to fit in with them, he nuzzled up to Laura, apologizing for wanting to leave, and then jumped over the fence. She had always been more friendly and sociable and she would surely be adopted. But he knew that if any prospective owners didn’t want to adopt him as well, she would change her attitude and act vicious in order to stay at the farm with him. But Derek couldn’t take that away from her. She deserved to be happy. When he finally stopped running, he had ended up in back in Beacon Hills.

Derek paused to sniff the air. It was nearing dusk, and Derek could smell the greasy food being cooked at his favorite restaurant to steal food from. It was a tiny little shack that had outdoor picnic tables in the parking lot. Derek slinked behind the building, waiting to see if some patron would leave their food unattended. He wasn’t too picky about what he stole, but he didn’t want to get caught. He could never tell which humans were the right humans to trust.

A man went to grab some napkins, and Derek scurried over, grabbing the burger from the table and dashing back into the shadows. As Derek ran into an alleyway, he could hear the shouts of the man questioning where his food went. When Derek assumed he was alone, he stopped and sat down to gulp his food down.

Trashcans tipped over, and Derek’s ears perked up. He had thought he was alone, but now he could hear the sounds of little feet. He waited, wondering if it was a cat or mouse. If it was a mouse, Derek could add that to his dinner, but then he heard tiny barks. Derek hid his food behind a few crates abandoned in the alleyway and went to investigate.

The little fur balls making noise weren’t in fact mice, but pups. Or puppies, Derek supposed. They must’ve been weaned already, considering how they were rooting through the garbage.  Derek eyed them before talking. They were all dogs, which usually dictated they should have owners. Two of them looked related, but it was a hunch because their fur was dusty and matted by dirt. It might’ve been brown or even blonde if they had a bath. The third looked older, black fur and most likely of another litter. Derek huffed. He had grown up with hybrids, so it was hard to differentiate between dog breeds.

Derek placed a paw in front of one of the puppies, blocking it to get its attention. “What are you doing?”

The middle sized pup stopped shuffling through the garbage and looked up. “Getting dinner,” she sniffed. Her curly hair was possibly the most matted.

Derek huffed and turned to walk away. When he picked up his food, he debated on leaving them to fend for themselves, but suddenly his conscience kicked in. Begrudgingly, he walked back to the puppies, dumping his food on the ground. They immediately started eating it, shoving and pushing to get a bite of the meat. Derek had to pull them back by their tails to make sure they each got a fair share, but when the food was gone, Derek decided to leave.

He wondered if he could go back to the outdoor restaurant and steal more food, but they would probably be on high alert. Once was fine, but twice in the same hour would cause too much of a commotion. Derek slinked back down the alleyway, hunched over and hungry. The sky was turning pink now, and Derek would need to go back to the forest before people started using the headlights of their cars. He wasn’t keen on being in a spotlight. Derek poked his head around the corner to see if any humans were nearby. None were, but he could feel something brushing up against his legs. Derek turned around, and the two brown puppies were staring up at him, flopped over on the ground.

“Go away,” Derek growled.

“But you fed us.” The smallest puppy looked up at him hopefully. “Can’t we come with you?”

Derek wanted to say yes, but no, they could not come with him. He lived alone in the woods and that was what he liked. Puppies were loud and obnoxious and always needed to be taken care of. Derek hadn’t even gotten a chance to eat dinner yet because of them. He hurried away, hulking down the street, but every time he paused to check for humans, he could see the puppies trailing behind him. Derek growled. He wanted to leave them behind, but he had to be careful about being seen in Beacon Hills. The people didn’t mind him, but if they saw him too much—a wolfdog roaming freely—they might get worried and call animal control. That could possibly mean certain death. Derek wasn’t sure how much wolf was in him, but if it was enough, he would be euthanized.

The puppies managed to keep up. He wondered how old they were. Maybe a couple of months? But they were so tiny. He quickly crossed the street, but when he looked behind, he noticed a car approaching. It wasn’t going fast, but the littlest puppy was in the middle of the road while the other two were still on the curb. Derek darted back, picking him up by the scruff and dumping him down on the sidewalk.

“Stay here,” Derek ordered.

“Why? We want to go with you,” the female puppy whined.

“No.”

“But-”

“No,” Derek growled. He could see two dogs approaching him. One a German Shepherd mutt with a terribly short haircut, the other a chocolate Labrador. So Stiles and Scott. _Of course._ Derek turned again toward the forest. He was close enough to the woods to make a safe dash, but they were already too close and the puppies kept climbing all over his feet. The two dogs always talked to him (which was the only reason he knew their breeds), and if they didn’t interrogate him so much, he might actually consider them friends. But he could already imagine Scott demanding to know if Derek had abducted the puppies in order to eat them. Derek stomped his paw when one of the puppies bit his tail. He was definitely not their plaything.

**Author's Note:**

> None of the views expressed about owning wolves/wolf hybrids/wolf dogs, etc are of my own personal view. Though apparently the appropriate name for a cross between a wolf and a domesticated dog is, “wolf- dog” or “wolfdog.” I sort of want to stick with wolfdog simply for continuity purposes. And Derek has been on his own for quite a while and avoids humans in this fic, so even he is a little behind on his own heritage and proper naming. But only super stubborn Derek will occasionally use the term “hybrid.” I mean, he avoids humans! How should he know about political legislation. But just so you know, wolf-dog/wolfdog is the correct terminology since the word hybrid implies a cross between species, but wolves and dogs are of the same species. Also, California law demands that if animal control catches a wolf or coyote, it must be euthanized. Most of the time people actually try to wait for the animal to go back into the wilderness until it seems like it’s too dangerous to have it in the area. For example, once some family of coyotes started living in an abandoned house in a suburban area in southern California and they had a litter of pups and people living next door didn’t want to call animal control because they felt bad for them. And recently there was a [lone wolf who left his pack in Oregon](http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2012/10/california-considers-protecting-lone-wolf.html) and travelled through northern California to seemingly find a mate, but people did not want animal control getting involved because it would mean certain death for the wolf and it wasn’t like he was on a killing rampage. He just wanted his maaaate. And wolves and first generation wolf hybrids are illegal to own in California, so Derek and his wolfdog family are all second, third, fourth generation. I don’t know what else to say about owning wolves/hybrids/wolfdogs as pets. Just make sure to do research before thinking you should get one? My dad had a few pets that were of German Shepherd/wolf mix when he was growing up and they were all really good animals, but it doesn’t hurt to do some research. You never know how an animal will be.


End file.
